


Let God Consume

by starportals



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fun Times!, M/M, Oral Sex, and thinly veiled religious experiences, i love these boys, im suffering, sexual acts described via weird metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8298032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starportals/pseuds/starportals
Summary: Tomas isn't as blind as Marcus believes he is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> okay so. my first go at smut. it might be good. it better be good. this has taken up my entire sunday so if it's not good i'll literally die.
> 
> partly dedicated to bones (@startrecking on twitter) bc they're in this hell hole w me!! love ya.

Tomas isn’t blind. On the contrary; he’s a pretty observant person, figures that in his line of work it’s a good thing to be. He listens intently when people come to him for help, digests the words they say to him and pick out the ones they refuse to speak; it’s funny how people do that, he thinks. They want help, sometimes they even need it, but they never ask him outright. He’s told of their troubles and their suffering, but there’s never a question in it, nothing that he can answer in simple terms. Tomas has spent years perfecting the art of listening to people pour their heart out to him and figuring out what it is they actually need, and he’s got good at it.

So, no, Tomas isn’t blind, which means he’s perfectly aware of what Marcus is doing, has been doing for a while now. Marcus watches him, and he does it too much for it to be accidental, or simply friendly. He does it when he thinks Tomas isn’t looking, and it should feel wrong, creepy even, but it doesn’t. It’s strangely flattering, igniting something deep within Tomas’ chest. Usually, he would brush it off; ignore it as much as he could and wait for the moment to pass.

Tonight, he feels brave. Maybe it’s because he didn’t sleep too well the previous night, and it’s only now catching up to him; over-tiredness and acute awareness working in partnership against him. 

Tomas is on the sofa, slowly sinking back into the cushions, a book that he can’t remember the name of forgotten in his lap. He’s on the brink of sleep, shadow creeping in around the edges of his vision, and then he can feel that odd sensation of someone looking at him. He contemplates ignoring it, if only for a second, but then he blinks the sleep from his eyes and finds Marcus stood in the hall, eyes intent and fixed on Tomas. 

Tomas meets his gaze, and Marcus is quick to look away. He clears his throat, says hurriedly, “We’re almost out of milk.” and Tomas knows it’s a lie because he went out and bought a carton himself only a few hours ago.

Here comes the misplaced bravery, “Why do you do that?” Tomas asks, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounds.

“Do what?” Marcus shrugs, and now they’re both playing dumb.

Tomas smiles thinly and watches as Marcus removes his coat, his hat, and distantly thinks of knights removing their armour, growing vulnerable to the world in the rare moments of quiet they allow themselves. Tomas supposes that the comparison wouldn’t be wholly inaccurate. The dim light has softened Marcus, taken the lines from his face and turned him into something young and innocent and . . . _beautiful_.

“Stop it.” Marcus says roughly, breaking Tomas’ reverie and hurling him back into reality.

“Why?” Tomas dares. “You do it all the time.”

Marcus has the grace to look guilty about it, but he resolutely ignores the question. He doesn’t say anything at all, just sort of hovers where he’s stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the room. Tomas waits, patiently.

“That’s different.” Marcus says slowly, after what seems like an eternity. 

“How?” Tomas hates it the moment he says it, hates how pleading it sounds, how desperate. He wishes he had kept it to himself, wishes he’d just fallen asleep on the sofa before Marcus ever even came home. He stands up, goes to retreat to his bedroom and hope the subject is never raised again.

He’s almost to the door, just a little bit further, and then there’s a hand on his shoulder, turning him around gently until he’s face-to-face with Marcus.

“I’m sorry.” The man says, completely sincere and so close that he threatens to overwhelm Tomas just by presence alone.

This is it, Tomas thinks. This is the moment they’ve both been heading for since the second they met, maybe even before then. The light is behind Marcus, curling around him in such a way that sets him alight, a thin and perfect halo encircling his head. Tomas smiles, a soft and fragile thing that becomes bolder when answered with a smile of Marcus’ own.

Everything is sedated. Tomas’ mind is clouded over and his thoughts are blurred, the world seems to shift hazily around him and Marcus in waves of warm colour. Something pushes him forward; lust, maybe, or perhaps it was just the knowledge that this was their dam-breaking moment. To let it slip through his fingers would be a waste, a crime even.

Tomas lets his eyes slide shut, and finally, _finally_ , kisses Marcus. Hesitantly, ever so gently, Marcus kisses him back. He had imagined it to be as a flood; something to be feared and avoided, with its crushing force and danger. Tomas is surprised to find it's nothing like that. It's more akin to the first time he remembers attending church; the sun beaming through stained glass windows in colours of green and blue and red and orange, the faint smell of the candles burning and the thin fog of smoke they created, the priest’s sermon echoing in his mind and touching a part of him that he hadn’t even known existed. Complete sensory overload.

Tomas lets himself drift, seconds turning to hours turning to years. Marcus’ hands are cupped either side of Tomas’ head, fingers resting lightly against his jaw and the back of his neck, and Tomas marvels at how good it feels. His own hands, he realises, are hanging limply from his sides, and Tomas rectifies that immediately by taking hold of Marcus’ hips. Marcus moans and tugs at Tomas’ lower lip.

“Wait.” Tomas sighs, lifting his hands to Marcus’ chest and pushing the other man away, keeping him close enough to hold on to. “We . . . What . . ?”

“Anything you want.” Marcus brushes his fingers through Tomas’ hair, across the curve of his cheeks, his lips. “You want to stop?”

“No! I just . . . “ Tomas trails off, suddenly unable to look Marcus in the eye. “I mean . . . Are we . . ?”

Marcus kisses him again, sweet and chaste. “Don't worry about that now. All that matters is this moment right here, yeah?”

Tomas nods, “Yeah. Okay, yeah.” 

There’s a beat where nothing happens, the air around them thick but silent. Tomas makes the first move because, _oh_ , how he wants this, needs it. He grabs Marcus’ shirt and pulls him closer, claiming his mouth hungrily. He hadn’t realised they were moving until his back comes into contact with a wall, effectively knocking the air from his lungs. He swallows down all the puns his mind supplies about Marcus leaving him breathless and focuses instead on the feel of the other man’s hands skimming over the hem of his shirt, pulling gently in askance. 

Tomas doesn’t nod, because he’s tired of waiting. He’s tired of skirting around the important parts with meaningless questions and words. He lifts the shirt over his head himself, throwing it somewhere to his left and expelling it from his thoughts. 

Marcus stills, his hands soothing across Tomas’ chest, palms flat and calloused. He traces the lines of Tomas’ body with his fingers, lips parted and eyes wide as he tears his gaze away to Tomas’ face.

“You’re stunning.” He says, and it's a statement that's so sure of itself it just hangs in the air, asking nothing in return.

Tomas ducks his head, cursing the blush that he can feel spreading across his cheeks. Marcus leans in, kisses him again, and Tomas knows that this is the one thing he’ll never grow tired of for as long as he lives and after. It’ll be the memory that is buried with his bones, that ascends with him from the soil of this world to the light of the next. 

He sighs at the profoundness of it all, brings his hands to the back of Marcus’ head and it’s as if he has the answer to a prayer he never made. Tomas strives to be full of love at all times; he loves the sky, and the birdsong in the morning, he loves all the people of the world and their different philosophies, he loves the pale green sunlight that dances through the canopies of trees onto the ground. Right now, he loves the heat of Marcus’ mouth as he kisses Tomas’ lips, his jaw, his neck, trailing his tongue down Tomas’ chest maddeningly slow. 

Feeling his brain switch to autopilot, Tomas rolls his hips forward in desperation. _Friction_ , he needs friction to cure the ache that’s made itself present. Marcus groans in response, kissing his way past Tomas’ navel and biting onto the bone of one of his hips. 

“Please.” Tomas whines, breath coming in hurried pants.

He feels Marcus smile against his stomach, and he loves that, too. Tomas keeps his hands firmly on the back of Marcus’ head, not quite guiding him but not completely relaxed. Marcus, for his part, is intent on the task he’s given himself and Tomas finds he can’t help but roll his hips once more as Marcus slips the waistband of his sweats down over his hips to pool at his ankles. Tomas tries not to think about how he looks right at this moment.

“Absolutely beautiful.” Marcus sounds awestruck, nipping at the inside of Tomas’ thighs until he’s writhing with need.

Marcus’ mouth around his cock is a blessed relief, and Tomas has enough wits about him to wonder if all sin would feel this holy, or if Marcus Keane is his own unique brand of absolution. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against the wall, smiling secretly to himself.

Tomas groans, matching Marcus’ pace with cautious thrusts. Marcus must have done this before, must have, because he’s so _fucking good at it_. One of his hands is against Tomas’ stomach, holding him in place, the other is wrapped deliciously around the base of his cock. Marcus licks up the length of Tomas’ shaft, and Tomas is overcome with the desire to see this, to watch as it happens. He looks down and opens his eyes, his breath hitching when he sees that Marcus is already looking up at him from beneath his eyelashes and it’s filthy in the best way possible. Pressure builds at the base of his spine, hot and sweet as his thrusts become more erratic. 

Marcus had called him beautiful. _Marcus_ had called _him_ beautiful. If only he could see himself now; lips bruised and glistening obscenely, eyes bright and dilated with unashamed lust, face awash with a red flush that Tomas could only describe as pretty. It was hypnotic. 

Tomas lets go of all reason, lets sense fall away from him piece by piece until nothing remains but the heat of Marcus’ mouth and the movement of his own body. He cries out when Marcus hums around his cock, tipping Tomas over the edge into an existence where there’s only white hot release.

Tomas comes back to himself slowly, floating back into his body in time to see Marcus standing, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt because he would swallow, wouldn’t he? Tomas pulls him in for a kiss and tastes himself on Marcus’ tongue, thinks he shouldn’t love it as much as he does. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Marcus has a way of saying things in such a way that Tomas is helpless to argue against him, and he can’t tell if that’s a good or a bad thing. “Not even just . . . You’re righteous; the world could do with a few more people like you.” 

Tomas hears the words, not fully listening to them, riding the last wave of his pleasure and settling into the kind warmth of afterglow. He brings Marcus’s forehead to rest against his own and, somewhere in the space that exists between them both, he finds something that feels an awful lot like peace.

**Author's Note:**

> lol. pls comment i need validation xoxo


End file.
